


Strings of Tension

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: White Collar
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Neal, But the sex in this is just Neal/Peter, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Other, References to El/Neal/Peter, brief dealing with cockrings, dom/sub elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal has been waiting for hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strings of Tension

**Author's Note:**

> been binge-watching white collar for the past couple weeks and finally worked up the inspiration to write some peter/neal! some dom/sub elements here, kind of extreme but also not. this story couldn't decide where it wanted to go so it sorta went everywhere--kinky, sweet, tender, raunchy, the works.
> 
> not beta'd, enjoy!

Neal has been waiting for hours.

His thighs and biceps are burning and his wrists are hot and raw from the rope tied tight but gently around them. His knees feel scraped raw from the delicate silk of the bedsheets that’s been rubbing against him since early this morning. The pillows resting beneath his head and hips feel suffocating, almost, and he’s never been sick of the scent of his own detergent before but he sure as hell is now. Spending what feels like an eternity in the face down-ass up position will do that to a man.

The worst part of it all, though, is the way he’s been hard since seven this morning, just on the edge of coming but with a cockring wrapped around his dick to keep him teetering. His ass had been slick this morning when it had all started, and Neal had spent the first hour reveling in the feeling of lube and come dribbling out of his hole and down the backs of his thighs. That had dried well into the second hour, though, and his thighs feel tacky and his ass feels overwhelmingly empty.

He can’t honestly say if it would have been better to be plugged full of something while he waited; part of him thinks the stimulation would’ve made things more interesting, being able to harmonize his moans along with the soft operatic music that’s been droning on all day. The phantom feeling of a cock, or beads, or a thick vibrating toy inside him has haunted him all day, and Neal’s instinct is to say being full would have been better than not.

But at the same time, Neal thinks, it would have been even more torturous. Because he would’ve been tied up, alone, probably sweating profusely and out of breath as whatever was left inside him pressed against his prostate for hours on end. Neal figures he likely could’ve been driven mad by the pleasure, driven into a pure fit of oversensitivity. He probably would have come, given that he would’ve been helpless to the onslaught of pleasure, and that wouldn’t have boded well. He’d been given strict instructions not to come before the evening, that much had been clear.

Gentle and brief relief seeps through his body as Neal considers this. All day he’s felt crazed by the desire to be fucked, filled, used up, but any anger or irritation over being left hanging dissipates. Instead, those desires—despite having stretched on for the better part of eight hours—are replaced with the desperate need to obey, to be good. He hasn’t come since the night prior, just as instructed; he’s been so good for so long now.

Neal nods to himself and ignores the way the pillows feel rough against his blushing skin. He’s been good, he’s being good, Peter will be so pleased.

As if on cue, the door to his room clicks open followed by the sound of sharp footfalls on hardwood floors. Neal strains his ears to listen to the sound of Peter pointedly ignoring him, though they’re barely a few feet apart. Neal listens as Peter drapes his suit jacket over a chair, drops his tie beside the sink as he gets a glass of water.

Neal blinks and suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He opens his mouth to lick his lips, but the cool rim of a glass is against him in an instant. He swallows eagerly, relishes the touch of Peter’s hand to his chin, keeping him still as he drinks at such an odd angle. Some of the water spills down Neal’s skin and onto the bed, but that’s okay, Neal knows, because he’s been good, he’s been obedient all day.

Eventually, Peter pulls away and Neal only barely holds back a keen of disappointment. Peter seems to hear the unspoken noise anyway, because he chuckles. Neal watches from the corners of his eyes as Peter continues stripping: first his shoes kicked neatly off and placed at the foot of the bed. Then, his shirt undone button by button and draped along with his jacket. The belt is next and Peter abandons it without care. He undoes his slacks and draws them down far enough to expose his cock—no underwear, and Neal’s mouth is watering.

“Neal.”

Peter’s voice draws Neal’s gaze from his cock to his face.

“How are you doing?” Peter asks gently, reaching out to comb his fingers through Neal’s sweat-stale hair.

Neal’s tongue suddenly feels heavy and obtrusive in his mouths. Words escape him.

“Do you need more water?” Peter asks as he sits on the edge of the bed; his hands move carefully, greedily along Neal’s skin. “Should I untie you?”

Neal freezes. He’s spent all day locked up inside his head (and it was nice, a necessary break from the stress of his day to day life) and yet now he doesn’t know what he wants. He can’t decide, there’s simply too many options. He wants to drink water or wine until he feels ready to burst, but he also wants to suck Peter’s dick like a slut. He wants to tilt his ass up invitingly and come with Peter balls deep inside him. He kind of wants to sleep, to be untied and let his muscles relax finally, and take care of all impending orgasms in the morning.

“I’m going to untie you, Neal, okay?” Peter speaks slowly. He stands again reaches over Neal to the headboard. With deft fingers, he undoes the bindings and helps lower Neal’s arms to the bed. “Doing okay?” He asks as one wrist is freed. Neal just nods absently. Peter walks around the bed to the other wrist and unties it just as quickly.

Peter steps back and admires Neal’s more relaxed form.

“How’s your neck, Neal?” Peter asks as he touches the skin lightly. “That’s a hell of a position you’ve been stuck in all day.”

Neal just whimpers. Every muscle in his body feels like lead and his head feels like it’s full of rocks, too heavy to move. He doesn’t have to say anything, though, because Peter’s hands are immediately on him and moving easily. Peter turns him over and slides into bed with Neal, slotting their bodies close together in a delicate, almost nonsexual way.

Peter moves one hand again to the back of Neal’s neck and massages the tense knots under the skin. “Next time, you should be on your back.”

Neal blinks; the blood rushing through his body brings some awareness back into him as well. “Next time?”

Peter shushes him gently. “No, no, Neal, don’t worry, you did so good.” He assures as he pushes Neal’s hair out of his eyes. “You did so good, Neal.” Peter kisses Neal’s forehead. “You liked it, didn’t you, Neal? Did it feel good?”

Neal blinks and considers the words. Eventually, he nods.

“You probably didn’t notice how uncomfortable it was, hm?”

Neal shakes his head.

“If it was good for you,” Peter murmurs, “I’d like to do it again.”

Neal shivers.

“We can try a different position. Something more comfortable for you.” Peter tugs Neal closer, into his lap now, kisses him on the lips. “Okay? Is that alright with you, Neal?”

Neal just nods again and kisses Peter this time, nipping at his lips.

Peter lets the heated kisses continue, groans when Neal’s tongue slips into his mouth and tastes like _want_. They keep kissing until Neal feels Peter’s prick against his ass and realizes his own cock has softened. He mewls and pushes his hips forward.

Peter doesn’t bother asking what Neal wants. Instead he drops a hand to Neal’s groin and slips the cockring off gently before Neal’s cock can stiffen again. He sets the ring aside and gets his hands back on Neal as quick as possible.

“Neal,” Peter says again and his voice cuts through the labored breathing in the room.

Neal looks up.

“What do you want, Neal?” Peter asks again. “Tell me what you want.”

Neal lets his head fall forward onto Peter’s shoulder. He breathes deeply for a few long moments, loses himself in the scent of Peter at work—a harsh combination of moderately decent coffee and toner ink, faint lingering traces of gunpowder—before answering.

“Fuck me,” and god is his voice raspy. He hasn’t spoken hardly at all today. Earlier this morning he was incessantly chatty as he and Peter hurriedly fucked before work; he’d even spent the first hour along mumbling to himself and entertaining himself. Otherwise, though, he’s been silent all day and his voice shows it. “Fuck me, Peter, please.”

Peter moves without a word. He doesn’t jostle Neal from his lap as he reaches for the bedside table to retrieve the lube. He doesn’t make some remark about the curtains being open and the large windows letting in not only natural light but whatever prying eyes might be interested—something Peter is normally very staunch on. Neal is grateful, today, that Peter isn’t being fussy.

Two slick fingers press against Neal’s entrance suddenly and he startles at the touch. He bounces in Peter’s lap, up and then sinking down onto the digits without entirely meaning to. He exhales as he’s filled and focuses on the conflicting feeling of Peter’s hot fingers slick with chilled lube. Neal rolls his hips with a languid sigh; he curls his arms around Peter’s neck and shoulders and breathes against his lips.

“Good?” Peter asks. When his lips curl in a grin, it’s only a little smug.

“Good,” Neal croaks. “Missed you.” They move together in an easy, familiar rhythm and Neal idly thinks the only way this could be better would be with El present, as she sometimes is. Next time, he thinks, just as Peter had said. Next time El will be here. “How was work?” Neal can’t help but ask.

Peter snorts a quick laugh. “Boring, without you. Quiet, too.” Peter kisses Neal’s neck, his pulse. “Got plenty of work done, though.”

Neal rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you did Agent Burke.”

Peter looks up at him and grins; there’s a mischievous spark in his eyes that Neal can’t quite match tonight. It’s been a long day, and Neal is tired and pliant, feels well-fucked though he’s far from it. He tightens his hold on Peter and nuzzles at his stubbled cheek. “C’mon, we don’t have all day,” he urges.

Peter laughs again but complies. He pulls his fingers out and slicks up his cock instead. He helps Neal shuffle, adjust, until their bodies are lined up perfectly.

Neal watches as Peter’s head tips back, always so overwhelmed by the feeling of Neal’s tight ass around his cock. Neal smirks to himself and feels a touch more energized than a few moments prior. For as much as he submits to Peter, for as much as he gives, there’s nothing better than watching Peter come undone for him as well. Neal grinds down on Peter’s dick and swallows Peter’s gasp with a kiss.

“Neal,” Peter bites out as his hands clench tight on Neal’s hips. “Fuck.”

Rather than answering, Neal moves his hips faster. He rises and falls quicker despite the strain in his muscles. The bed rocks with their motions and their bodies are fast gathering a sheen of sweat, but Neal can’t help but feel like this is the most delicate they’ve been with one another. Not to say things are usually a rough-and-tumble sort of style, it’s not always whips and chains and obedience. But seldom is it as simple or fulfilling as this—just their bodies moving together in sync.

“Neal,” Peter says again, “I’m going to come.”

“Already?” Neal asks though the admission strikes heat in his gut. Peter has probably been hard all day, just like Neal. Peter has probably been aching to get inside Neal all day, so much so that he’s already too close to the tipping point. Just as undoing the binds around his wrists had woken him up, just as the feeling of Peter’s fingers buried deep in his ass had brought some clarity back to his mind, knowing Peter was on the verge of coming has Neal glowing, completely alert again.

Peter groans rather than snapping out a witty response. His head tips back again and hits the headboard with a hard smack, not that it deters him. His hips still pump frantically up inside Neal and his chest heaves from the effort.

Neal rolls with the thrusts and clenches his hole around Peter in time to the thrusts. He lets his nails dig crescent-shaped marks into Peter’s shoulders as he holds on tight.

“C’mon, Peter,” Neal urges again. His limbs aren’t as heavy now and his head is clear of the fog that had lingered all day. “Come on, I want you to come inside me.”

Peter grips Neal’s stiff cock and starts to stroke, quick and expertly. “You too,” he says quietly. “Come with me.” He twists his grip over the precome slick head of Neal’s prick, then drags the pad of his thumb across an especially sensitive patch of skin on Neal’s shaft.

Neal comes first and it surprises him; the moan he lets out is loud and uninhibited and startled. It catches in his throat and trails off into a series of throat gasps, all some tangled up version of Peter’s name. His body shakes in Peter’s lap and his ass clenches with the force of his orgasm.

Peter comes not long after, slipping down against the headboard as he thrusts harder, faster inside Neal. Their skin slaps together lewdly and loud in the apartment and Peter groans as he comes, as Neal’s ass gets even wetter. Peter shudders and thrusts a few more times, as though he could get any deeper inside Neal.

Eventually, they both still while breathing hard.

Neal grins first. He leans in and kisses Peter. Sparks of arousal flicker across his skin and likely across Peter’s as well, but the thought of getting hard again is exhausting. Neal opens his mouth to speak, but Peter beats him to it.

“The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” Peter says through a chuckle.

Neal hums against his lips. “How many times did you get off today thinking about me waiting here?”

“Not once. Didn’t seem fair,” Peter admits. Their lips brush on every other word like ghosts of kisses.

Neal raises a surprised eyebrow. “Such a gentleman.”

Peter laughs. “If I had let myself do it once, I would’ve been doing it all day,” he adds.

“That’s more like it,” Neal replies though Peter _is_ a gentleman. Neal just as much believes the first reason as the second, and it ignites a fond fire in his heart. “We should clean up.” Neal gestures to the sweat and come and lube drying on their bodies. “And then we should get food.”

Peter’s gaze flicks to the clock on the bedside table. “If we hurry, we could probably get back home before El gets there. Make her something nice,” Peter kisses the hinge of Neal’s jaw like he just can’t resist. “Make it up to her for missing out on this.”

Neal sits back with an even brighter smile. “I’ll grab a nice bottle of wine before we go.”


End file.
